


Jagged Thunder

by kelex



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Inspired by a Movie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NASCAR driver Jim Ellison must overcome problems with his senses to win not only the Daytona 500, but Dr. Sandburg as well. (Based on the movie "Days of Thunder")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jagged Thunder

William Ellison picked his way through the cornfields of Banks' farm. When he'd pulled into the long driveway, he'd marveled that the former crew chief could be happy on a farm, but driving down the driveway and finding him in his barn, tinkering with an old John Deere convinced him otherwise. "How's it going, Sy?"

Simon didn't look up from the tractor engine. "Been better, a little arthritis in the shoulder." There was a pause as he pulled out a clogged spark plug, and then rocked back on his heels. "Been a long time, Bill."

"Yeah, it has. Wasn't sure you'd want to see me."

Sy chuckled softly. "Not sure I do, but if you came way the hell out here to Wilkesboro from your comfortable big city office, I know there's got to be something up, and I'm still curious enough to want to know what you want with an old codger like me."

Bill Ellison grimaced. "I got a driver that needs a lot of work, Sy. And he needs a car. He's tops in the Indy races, and he can make those Indy cars sing, dance, and do tricks. I think he's got a lot of potential for stock cars, but..."

"But he needs a firm guiding hand?" Sy interrupted. "Who is it?"

"Ellison. Jim Ellison."

Sy crooked an eyebrow. "Relative of yours?"

"Son. But that doesn't enter into it. He isn't too fond of me, so I let him be. I think he can take the polls, especially in Charlotte, Daytona, and Watkins, but someone's gotta get him into the car and show him how to drive stock."

"And you want me to do it." It wasn't a question.

"It's why I'm here," Bill admitted. "You're the best crew chief that ever worked for me, Sy. This guy needs a strong hand and a head that's even harder than his. And a car that can dance."

"Tell you what. You get him to Charlotte. I'll make it down there for a few laps, we'll see what he's got. But I won't promise you anything."

~ * ~ * ~

A week later, Sy got the call. Ellison was going to be down at the Charlotte track for some practice laps. Sy drove the interstate down to the speedway, and Bill had left word that Sy was get the special treatment, whole nine yards. He shook off the valet parking and pulled the pickup into a parking space and looked around. There were a few other cars here, trailers with cars in them, and he made his way into the speedway proper.

The trip through pit road was familiar, and he found Bill, Big John, and Henri Brown--son of Henri Sr., who had been killed in crash. "Where's the driver?" Sy asked, catching a look at the displeased attitude on Big John's face.

"Late," Bill answered shortly. "But it's a good thing, because Conner's still running her laps. We're going to be using her car for his test run."

Just then, Conner pulled up in front of the group of people and slid out the window of the car. She opened her mouth to say something, but her words were drowned out by the loud roar of a Harley Davidson. Rubber smoke boiled out as the driver of the motorcycle peeled around the low wall around pit road and pulled up behind the stock car's parking space. Conner took one look at the driver, shaking her head and chuckling rudely as she looked at Bill. "You got a live one there," she said, and then she looked at the new driver. "Listen up, hotshot, I don't mind letting Sy use the car, but you bend this bitch one little bit and I'm gonna tear your balls off."

The driver removed his helmet to reveal a finely chiseled face and icy blue eyes. "Not a problem, babe."

Sy looked at Bill. "You want me to work with that?"

Bill nodded. "Just wait until you see him in a car."

"I'm not letting him in that car. Conner will rip him to pieces if he dings it and that hot shot will rip the quarter panel off."

Henri said nothing for the moment, only spitting to the side as he watched the hotshot driver slide into the window of the stock car. Soon, the metal machine was roaring to life, and Ellison buckled up his safety harnesses and put on his helmet. He flipped a thumbs up to the crowd watching, and shook his head as Conner sat astride the motorcycle. Henri dug up a stopwatch and climbed up the spotter's tower. He dropped a green flag, and Ellison's car jumped into life.

Every man around the track could hear the gears downshifting as he shifted gears in the powerful car, and he made the lap around the big track. Henri stopped his stopwatch when he crossed the line the first time, and dropped the watch down to Sy.

Sy pushed his hat back as he looked at the stopwatch. _1.5 mile lap in right under thirty seconds; he's gotta be running 150 or better,_ Sy thought to himself. "You say he's never been in stock before?" he asked Bill, passing the watch back up to Henri.

"Nope, first time formally. Done some dirt tracking, but nothing on the big speedways or super speedways. Indy only."

"Find this kid a sponsor, and you got yourself a crew chief." Sy shook his head as he said it, unable to believe he was getting back into the game.

"I'll be sponsoring him through City Chevrolet until we find a big time sponsor," Bill said. "Putting the money up front myself, getting it back when the sponsor signs."

Just then, Jim's voice crackled over the radio. "I'm dropping the hammer."

Sy grabbed for the headset. "No you're not!"

But it was too late. Jim had already floored the pedals and shifted into high gear, and the car was a blur as it flew around the track.

Henri clocked Ellison's latest lap, and then whistled, showing the watch to Sy. "That's under Megan's time."

Sy nodded. "Might've been better if he cracked up the car." He went back to the headset. "All right, Ellison, time to pull it in, you've shown off enough for one day."

Ellison pulled Megan's car back into the pit, and eased himself out the window. Bill nodded at him, and Sy just shook his head, laughing. Megan got off the bike and walked over to him. "Not bad. Now go and get a car, and we'll see how good you do in a crowd."

~ * ~ * ~

True to his word, Sy built the racecar Bill asked for. In his barn, every day for ten, twelve hours sometimes. He cut the sheet metal parts, drilled the frame, nailed and spiked the metal down, hand painted and detailed and bolted the frame down. He tested the harnesses, and soon, the shining car was done. Glinting in the green and gold colors of Bill's dealership, City Chevrolet, emblazoned with the number 46, the car was ready to go. He sent word to Bill, and Bill sent a rig and car hauler as well as the promise that Jim would be meeting them at the track, ready to run that weekend's race at Watkin's Glen. Simon held his own reservations about the kid's readiness.

~ * ~ * ~

The green flag was dropped, and Sy cringed with the progression of the race. Ellison was driving straight on, that wasn't the problem, but he was sliding all over the damn track like the car was out of control. He rubbed almost every other car on the track--every other car except Megan Conner. Conner gave him hell, tapping him and sending him flying across the track again. Finally he got fed up with it. "Jim, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"That son of a bitch just slammed into me!" Jim shouted into his radio mouthpiece.

"No sir. She didn't slam into you, she didn't hit you, she didn't tap you, she rubbed you. And rubbing, son, is racing."

Jim's response didn't come through clearly over the microphone and Sy had the feeling that it was mostly profane anyway. Thirty laps later, he'd made a morbid game of listing mentally all the cars that Jim had swiped, and it totaled up to almost every other car on the track. When he came in for the next pit stop, he leaned in the window. "Now, when you get back out on the track, I want you to hit the pace car!"

"Hit the pace car?" Jim yelled, confused.

"Yes, hit the pace car!"

"Why!"

"Because you've hit every fucking thing else out there and I want you to be perfect!"

Jim flipped Sy off as he thundered out onto the track. Henri grabbed Sy and dragged him over to see something. "Man, Sy, check this out."

Sy walked over and looked at the tires from Jim's car. The tread was melted almost completely away. _We've got to get that boy to lay off the tires._

The rest of the race was a total disaster for the City Chevrolet team, Ellison finished almost dead last, and Bill was about to blow a gasket. "Dammit, Sy, I thought you were going to build me a driver!"

"Hey, hold on now, I agreed to build you a racecar and you've got one of the finest cars on the track if I do say so myself, I also agreed to **work with** your driver if you gave me somebody good, but this bastard can't drive in the pack to save his life or your money! I'm sure he does great on Indy sprints when there's only one or two other guys on the track but this has thirty other cars on the track and this guy just can't handle the crowd!" Sy shot back.

"Look, Bristol's next week, but if we don't get that boy a sponsor soon, then we don't have much of a chance of making the rest of the season. I'm liquid, not rich."

Sy walked back out to the garage. Henri was circling around the car, making a list of repairs and replacements which pretty much meant refitting the whole car. "Well, would you look at that?" He pointed to a completely untouched front quarter panel.

Simon kicked and dented the panel, and kicked it once more until the panel fell off. "Don't want you to get spoiled and lazy."

~ * ~ * ~

The time for Bristol came--too soon for Sy's taste--and Ellison was dropping into the car. "Jim, for god's sake, leave Conner alone. You rub her, she's going to put you in the wall."

"Look, Simon, don't worry. I know what I'm doing. I can do this. Trust me. There's nothing I can't do in a racecar."

Sy sighed. He knew that sentiment would crop up again later, he was sure of it. He watched as Jim got into the driver's seat and adjusted his safety belts. Then he noticed that Jim dialed the volume almost all the way down. "Now how the hell do expect to hear me when I talk to you with the volume of your headset all but off?"

"I hear you just fine," Jim said, putting his helmet on and adjusting the mouthpiece. "My ears are just a little sensitive."

"Sensitive my ass," Sy muttered as he walked back to the pit wall. _That son of a bitch is tuning me out! No wonder he was sucking out on the track!_ As the engines started to rev, Sy grabbed his mike. "Listen to me, dammit, turn up your headset so you can hear me!"

"I can hear you just fine, Sy, what are you going to bitch about now?"

"Nothing, just remember to watch your damn tires!" Sy knew damn well that Ellison hadn't adjusted the volume dial on his headset. He'd been watching. And yet he'd answered instantly. _What the hell is going on with him??_

Sy watched in disbelief as a fair replay of last week was run in front of him. Ellison made it up to second place behind Conner--again--and had an almost identical run of rubbing and tapping all the other cars running with him. "Jim... Jim... talk to me, what's going wrong out there?"

"These assholes won't stay out of my way!" he shouted into the mouthpiece. "Shit! I'm sliding around all over the place out here, I'm coming in! Get me new tires!"

Sy shook his head as Jim pulled down into pit road. "Brake it, Jim!"

"I'm standing on them as it is!" The car was still flying down pit road, and the brakes weren't making that much of a difference. "Get 'em out of there, this is gonna hurt!"

They didn't have to be told twice. The pit crew scattered as Jim came flying through there and the car slammed into the pit wall. The rest of the pit crew hurried to help Jim out of the car and Sy walked over to the tires. They were melted almost to the rims and slick as owl shit. _No wonder he had no traction._

~ * ~ * ~

Rockingham was the third race track, Jim's third race, and Bill had notified him that there were major sponsors in the stands. They couldn't afford to fuck this one up.

"Jim, for once in your life, do what I tell you and lay off the tires! Don't shift so much, run lighter on the turns."

"This is my car, Sy, I drive it my way."

"Yeah, let's just look at your way. A last place finish and a wreck into pit wall. That's what your way gets us. Jim, where the hell are you going?"

"To get in my car. The race is going to start soon."

Jim walked out on Sy, and Simon kicked the nearest trashcan. _That should be your ass, boy!_ he ranted silently. _I am going to show you one way or the other, you listen to your crew chief!_

About twenty laps into the race, Jim's call came in. "I'm coming in."

"I don't think that would be a good idea right now."

"What?"

"Well, we're eating ice cream."

"Ice cream!" Jim was enraged.

"Well, now, you're welcome to come in and get some but I don't think Nascar will think too highly of you trying to drive and eat an ice cream cone at the same time, seeing as you already have enough trouble driving," he taunted.

Jim swerved into pit road, ripping off his headset as Simon taunted him. He was driving with one hand, and ripping off safety restraints and helmets with the other. By the time the car had spun to a stop, Jim was halfway out the window and chasing Sy down with murder in his eyes.

By the end of the race, it was a story Sy was thoroughly familiar with. "Look, Jim, you're going to have to start listening to me when I tell you something about the car."

"Look, Simon, I'm in the car and you're not. I know what I'm doing."

Sy snorted. "Oh yeah, sure you do. Look at your last two races, one of which you didn't finish because you slammed the car into pit road!"

"It's not my fault the tires can't keep up with me!"

"They can keep up with Conner! With Gantt, Bodine, Wallace, Allison, Straker, and every other damn driver out on that track, what makes you so goddamned special!"

"Because I'm the best, and I don't have the best working for me." Jim grabbed his jacket. "I'm out of here."

"And just where--"

Bill gently restrained Sy. "Let him go." He waited until Jim was out of the way and sat down in front of Sy. "I know you're good. You know you're good. But if the guy in the car doesn't believe in you, then you got nothing."

~ * ~ * ~

Sy found Jim at one of the local watering holes, and by the count of the empty beer bottles, halfway to thrashed. "What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me what's wrong with the car. If she's too loose, too tight, too fast, we can put some more wedge in, we can take a turn out, we can set the car up to fit you but you got to talk to me, Jim. I can't do it if you don't tell me."

Jim laughed as he swilled from the beer bottle. "I'd love to help you there, but I can't."

"And why not?"

"Because, where it comes to cars, I'm an idiot. Tight, loose, wedge turn... I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't have the vocabulary. So, sorry."

Sy chuckled. "Well, we're just going to have to give you the vocabulary."

"And how do you intend to do that?"

Sy smiled. _This is going to be fun._

~ * ~ * ~

Sy had immediately gone to the car hauler and had them pull out the backup. "I want you to make this baby as loose as you can without having her shake to pieces on him out there. We've got to teach him how to tell us what's wrong with the car."

Henri smiled. "This is going to be fun."

~ * ~ * ~

By afternoon the next day, they'd made it back to Charlotte Motor Speedway. Sy helped Jim get into the car and get belted in. "Sure you're not too hung over to do this?" he shouted over the revving of the engine.

"One, stop yelling. Two, did you get the tinted visor I asked for?"

Simon forcibly lowered his voice. "Sorry, didn't mean to yell. The visor on your helmet's tinted, and the windshield is glare proof glass."

"Great, thanks." Jim waited until Simon had stepped away from the car and pulled off his driving gloves, and sliding on a pair of black Isotoner driving gloves before donning the heavy regulation gloves. _Better. Much better. Soft against my hands and the heat doesn't burn._ "Ready!"

Simon signaled Henri and on the spotter tower, Henri dropped the green flag to let Jim know to go.

Jim floored the car and spun out onto the track. "Holy shit, Simon!"

"Okay, Jimbo, tell me what's wrong?"

"One you don't call me Jimbo. Two, her ass end is all over the place."

"Uh huh, uh huh, now that mean's she's loose. Looser you are, faster you go but it's harder to control. We tighten it up by turning wedge in. If it's too tight, you go too slow but you have precision control."

"I need speed **and** control!"

"Then we adjust the wedge until you get that balance."

Jim pulled in, and Sy got under the car's chassis, adjusting the rear to about half what it was before. "Here, Jim, try a lap on that, then come back here, cause we've got to talk about your tire consumption, because those tires are what's keeping you from winning the race. Go!"

Jim took off with the new wedge setting, and his voice crackled back to Sy almost immediately. "You put wedge in, right?"

"Right."

"She's perfect."

"Good, now get your ass back in the pits and we're talking tires next."

It wasn't long until Jim pulled back in and turned the car ignition off. "Okay. Let's talk."

"You're used to running on Indy tires. They're twice and wide and half as thick. These are standard tires, they're half as wide and twice as thick. You're driving the tires too hard, you're melting them, and that's why you're sliding all over the place. I'll bet you tonight's beers that if you drive fifty laps your way, and fifty laps my way, my way will beat you."

"You got a deal."

"Fresh tires, boys!" Sy yelled to the pit crew, and he disappeared into the pit garage to call Bill. "Can I pull you away from the car business to come down here and check out your boy? He's running a few laps as we speak, and we got the car fixed to his specifications. We're working on the tires next."

"You still at the Rock?"

"Nope, no, we're back home in Charlotte. Wouldn't tell you to come to the Rock to check us out, now would I?"

"Smartass. I'll be there shortly."

"We're in the pits; meet me by the spotter's stand." Sy hung up and got back out there to pick up the radio. "How you doin', Jimbo?"

"I told you not to call me Jimbo!"

"You prefer Jimmy?"

"I prefer Jim."

"Live with Jimbo. What lap you on, Jimbo?"

"Eight."

"You'll start noticing a difference in about ten or fifteen more laps," Sy told him. "The ride will be getting less smooth cause you're wearing down to the tread, and you'll start sliding around after about twenty more. By the time you get to the end of the fifty your way, you'll be sliding up and down the track no matter how hard you fight it," Sy predicted through the headset.

"We'll see," was Jim's only response.

But Sy's prediction turned out true. By the time the end of his laps came, Jim was sliding all over the track. Not the car's fault as he'd previously thought, but the tires. His fault.

He pulled in, and the crew changed off his tires. "Now, here's what I want you to do..."

~ * ~ * ~

Bill found Sy leaning against the spotter's stand with two tires sitting in front of him. One was worn completely down to the tread, the other was used but not nearly so damaged. "Fifty his way," Sy said, pointing to the worn tire. "Fifty my way. I think we got it, man."

~ * ~ * ~

Martinsville and the Virginia 500 was their next race. The car was tuned to Jim's specs, and Jim ran the tires the way Sy told him to, and they racked up their first Winston Cup win.

Two subsequent wins--the Talladega 500 and the NAPA 500 brought Jim's name to the forefront of hot rookie drivers, and by the end of the fourth winning race, the Pontiac 400, Bill met an enthusiastic race crew with a wagonload of Superflo motor oil merchandise. "Guess what, boys, we got ourselves a sponsor!!" he yelled, putting a cap on Jim's head and on Sy's as well.

~ * ~ * ~

In the travelling compartment of the car hauler, Jim, Henri, Sy, and their girls of the moment were kicked back, drinking beer, watching old races, and bullshitting. Sy had just brought in a new jar of white lightning, and sat in the chair beside Jim as Jim pointed to the screen. "Hey, Henri... that's your daddy, ain't it?"

Henri nodded. "Yessir, in the last race he run fore he died. Crashed in the Daytona race the next day."

"I remember that," Jim said softly, swilling out of his beer bottle.

Sy snorted. "Who doesn't? Henri was the best driver I ever worked with, not sure what happened there." He looked at Jim, changing the subject. "So how did you end up losing your ride?"

Before Jim could answer, he heard sirens. "We're getting pulled over." He was so busy listening to the sirens he missed the look that Sy and Henri shot each other.

Outside, a North Carolina state trooper got out of his car and tapped his baton on the metal door. "Okay, everyone out, against the side of the trailer. We got a tip that you were distributing illegal liquor across state lines."

Simon came out on that one. "Son, this is not distribution, this is consumption!"

"Against the trailer, please."

Jim was the last one out, and he was none too gently pushed against the side of the trailer. "Spread 'em," commanded the cop as Jim heard several others get out of their cars to come and help with the searches. Over his shoulder he caught a whiff of cologne and turned his head to see a rather broad shouldered male cop approaching him. "Turn around."

Jim did as he was told, and watched as the cop frisked him, feeling his ass cupped quickly and then bypassed as the man moved down his legs then up the inside of his thighs to grope his crotch. "Oh, what's this? I think I found something here."

"Oh yeah?" asked the original cop. "What?"

"Dangerous weapon," he said, turning Jim around and smiling, then leaning in to whisper. "Sy and the guys thought it'd freak you out getting groped by a guy."

Jim leaned forward himself to whisper. "Guess what... it didn't." He gently kissed the other man's ear.

The fake trooper laughed, and Simon exchanged a surprised look with Henri as Jim looped his arm around the guy's waist. "Come on in, can't let all that white lightnin' to go waste," he said, bringing his date in.

~ * ~ * ~

Jim and his "date" had fallen asleep together on the couch in the travel room, after indulging in little more than heavy petting. In the morning, the guy woke up, kissed Jim softly, said goodbye, and left to go to his real job. Jim laid back down on the couch and covered his eyes with the Superflo hat.

The sound of Sy moving to the door to take a piss woke Jim up, and when Simon stumbled back to his chair, Jim was sitting up and leaning against the back wall. "What the hell was that?" the older man asked.

Jim grinned. "You think I'm that easy to freak out? It's going to take a lot more than a good looking guy groping my dick to make me uncomfortable."

"Do you... you don't... that way?" Jim held up his arm, his hand limp at the wrist and he swung it to the left and the right, and then looked at Simon. "Fuck me."

Jim slid an eye up and down Simon's frame. "Not quite my type, but thanks for the offer."

"Fuck off," Simon grunted, swinging his feet up onto the chair legs across from him. Jim laughed softly and pulled the ball cap down over his eyes again as he turned the collar of his denim jacket up over his ears.

~ * ~ * ~

The Superflo racing team continued to rack up wins and points, over the next three races Jim came out with one win and two second place finishes behind Megan Connor. _Not bad,_ Jim thought to himself.

The morning before the Pocono race, Jim shivered in the cool air as he stepped outside the travel trailer. Though he'd not spoken of it to anyone, his condition was getting worse, and that condition had been why he'd lost his ride. They'd thought he was on drugs, the Indy commissioner had, and though Jim had passed every drug test they'd give him, his Indy sponsor had still found a way to quietly release him right after the opening of the season.

His condition didn't have a name, so he'd been told. It had also been suggested that he undergo psychiatric evaluation before getting back into a racecar, to see if they could get rid of the hallucinations. The smells, the sensitivity to both light and noise, the sensitivity of his skin, even his taste buds were becoming affected. He couldn't stand Sy's voice yelling in the headphones during the race; he had to turn the volume almost off and it was uncomfortably loud for him as it was. He'd had to add a second pair of gloves under the thick driving ones, and it was getting harder and harder to shut out the other sounds of the track to hear his own. _At least since they fixed the car, I don't have that to worry about,_ he mused. _Now I just have to worry about losing my mind._ He listened for a moment, and recognized Simon's stride approaching him. "Mornin' Sy."

"Boy, how do you DO that?"

"Nobody else would be up at this godforsaken hour of the morning but me who can't sleep and you who can't hold your bladder," Jim teased, dodging the question.

"Yeah, shut up or I'll be pointing it in your direction," he mumbled, heading for the garage toilet.

The acrid scent of fresh urine reached Jim's nose, and he fought not to cough. "Might wanna lay off that hooch, Sy, it's turning your piss to ammonia."

Before Simon could make a response to that, the others started piling out of the trailer and into the garage area. _If you can just make it through the rest of the season... then you can take some time and find out what's wrong with you._

~ * ~ * ~

The Pocono Speedway was hot and muggy, and Jim was not looking forward to layering on the jumpsuits and everything else that Nascar required. He was sweating already. It didn't look as though the next race in Daytona was going to be any better, but he stopped that train of thought before it started. _Keep your mind on Pocono, boy, it's where you're at._ Odd how his inner voice was starting to sound like Sy. _So I'm starting to like the old coot._

Simon approached and Jim half turned to meet him. "Yeah, yeah, I know, get dressed."

"No, hose down," Simon said with a wicked grin as he turned the water hose on. Jim cursed and started after Simon, and the black crew chief hopped nimbly around the garage, spraying Jim down. "Now hold your water there, Jimbo! You'll thank me once you get that hot-ass jumpsuit on. It'll evaporate just like sweat and keep you a little cooler under there."

"The side benefit being you get to make me look like an idiot," Jim grumbled as he started stripping off his jacket and shirt, standing soon in his t-shirt and shorts as he got into the jumpsuit. _I'm even getting used to Jimbo!_ "Simon... this race is going to suck. I can feel it. **I'm** going to suck."

"Now, no, no, you're not. You're going to go out there, do fine, and kick ass like you've been doing, as long as you stay away from the outside lane. And you're going to come back with another win. So just get your butt in the car and drive." Sy put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Don't you start doubting yourself now, Jimbo, not when you got all of us back here believing in you."

~ * ~ * ~

Despite Jim's worries, the race was going off very well. The laps had gone by quickly, it was near the end of the race, with about ten laps to go, and a caution flag came out when Lake Speed's Dodge sprung an oil line and oil coated the back straightaway. During the caution, most drivers--including Jim--took the time to pit and get new tires. Since their practice at Charlotte, Jim's tires were lasting almost longer than anyone else's on the track, but this close to the end with him in second place, there was no reason to take chances. "Dammit, boy, I told you that we'd be winnin' this race if you just listened to me! Now get back out there and do it!"

Jim's tires left skid marks as he pulled out of pit road and back onto the track with the others. He was in second place, and held second until the last two laps of the race. It was then that Sy crackled over the radio. "Jim! Megan's in first place with a quarter of a second lead on you, I want you to pass her in this last turn, and take him on the outside."

"I won't be able to hold on the outside, you told me that yourself!"

"You will!"

"You told me never to go to the outside!"

"Dammit, Jim, listen to me! You **will** be able to hold! During that last pit stop, we um....we put some special matched tires on for you! They're perfectly balanced, and they **will** hold you when you take that bank turn on the outside! Now do it!"

"If you're wrong, Sy, I'm coming back just to kick your ass!" Jim shifted the car into it's highest gear and feinted down, then took Megan on the outside, pulling ahead of her in the last quarter of the last lap, and taking the checkered flag.

Back in Victory Lane, Jim was crawling out of the car as one of the battalion of reporters flocked over to him. "Well now, Mr. Ellison, that was a dangerous move you did in the last turn, going around Connor on the outside like that."

"Well, I know it was, but I gotta thank my crew chief here, Mr. Simon Banks, for putting on some special tires for me, I couldn't have done it without him."

The reporter turned to Simon. "Special tires?"

Sy shrugged. "There wasn't anything special, really... just regular old tires," he said, ducking the outraged look from Jim.

The reporter laughed. "Looks like there's some explaining the crew chief needs to do to his driver, we'll be back after this message from..."

Jim tuned out the reporter and stalked over to Sy. "They weren't--"

"Hell no, you were getting such a candy ass out there on me, I had to tell you something-" and the rest of Simon's explanation was cut off as he started to run from Jim, who was intent on murder.

~ * ~ * ~

"All right, Jim, this is the first time you're runnin' down here at Daytona. Just remember, this is where the big boys play. Nobody's expectin' you to win your first Daytona run, nobody that matters anyway. You just need to get a feel for the track."

Jim nodded. "Now that I can do." He had been unable to shake the feeling he'd had since Pocono that something was going to happen to him. And his problem was starting to get worse. Maybe it was because the stock car races were longer, and he was isolated for so much longer, with only Sy's intermittent comments to focus on. Three pairs of gloves were no longer enough, and even the soft cotton threaded spandex of the Isotoners were starting to irritate his skin.

The smells of the track--sweaty bodies, sour port-o-johns, burnt motor oil, hot asphalt, boiling car fluids, gasoline, rotting trash from the concession area, and many other smells joined to make him sick to his stomach. Simon's voice was started to be a screech in his ear during the race, even at the decreased volume, and the other cars and drivers were becoming distractions he couldn't deal with. He shook his head and squared his shoulders, heading towards the car. Sy had already sprayed him down earlier and he hated to admit but the old man's trick really did work, helping to cool him off in the oven of the car.

 _You got to make it through here, boy,_ Jim said to himself. _You make it at Daytona, then you got nothing else to prove. You make it here, you can make it anywhere. Nobody expects you to win, just make it through the race with a good showing. You'll have nothing else to prove to anyone._ He kept repeating that to himself, but even as he did, the feeling of impending doom grew with each passing moment. He shook it off yet again as he slid in through the window, and helpful hands reached in to help secure the belts and put up his netting.

Simon shook his head as he watched Jim getting into the car. _Something is wrong with that boy; Dear Lord just let him make it through this race alive and I will talk to him and get out of him what's bothering him._ If God was listening, he gave no sign as the anthem finished, and the checkered flag was dropped.

Jim's qualifying had won him a fourth place start, and he quickly dropped back two spots in the first two laps, but then gained his fourth place back by the end of the fifth lap. Sy's voice came over the headset. "Just remember, Jimbo, this is just a racetrack, just like every other racetrack you've ever been on. You beat every other track, you can beat this one too."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sy," Jim said back, concentrating on shutting out the smells and sounds so that he could concentrate on his driving.

Fifty laps later, Sy's voice interrupted him again. "Jim. There's a wreck up ahead. Turn three. Pretty bad. Just follow Conner through it. She'll be out of your way when you get there."

Jim nodded to himself, and steeled himself. The black smoke washed over the car, obscuring his vision for brief moments until his eyes adjusted to it. He saw Megan up ahead, spinning sideways as the wrecked car nicked her. He was just about to steer around Megan when someone hit him from behind. The last thing he saw was the car shooting forward, and then blackness.

"Shit! Goddammit, get the ambulance out there now!" Sy said, ripping his headset off and getting ready to jump the pit wall. Jim's car T-boned into Megan's, sending both cars into flips and spins. Megan's landed on the infield grass, Jim's on the skirt above it. "Get the goddamned ambulance out there now!" Simon repeated as he ran across to the wrecked cars. "Jim! Megan!"

~ * ~ * ~

Both drivers were raced to the hospital, airlifted out. Megan came around first in the ER, and Jim came around shortly afterwards.

Blair Sandburg was the head doctor on call, and he got to Megan's side in time to hear her tell one of the ER techs to take the neck brace and shove it up his ass. "You wouldn't be talking to me like that would you, now?" he asked briskly, checking Megan's pupil reaction with his light.

"Not you, Doc, them," Megan said groggily after a pause, processing what the handsome doctor had said to her.

Blair laughed. "Get her to two, him to three. Once you get her in two, prep her for a CAT scan, and get me their helmets from their pit teams. He'll need a scan too but I want to check him out. Go, get moving!"

~ * ~ * ~

The next thing that Jim noticed is that he was awake, and a nurse was bending over him. "Mr. Ellison, we're going to take you for your CAT scan now. Dr. Sandburg will be doing your scan, and will meet with you afterwards."

Jim didn't say anything, didn't argue as he was being moved onto a wheeled gurney and taken down to the scan area. The first time he spoke is as they were wheeling him. "Where am I?"

"Halifax Hospital and Medical Center."

"Halifax... so we're still in Daytona?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long have I been out?"

"Not long, sir. Just a few hours."

"Simon... where's Simon?" Jim tried to sit up and look around for his crew chief. "I can't see, where's Simon!"

The fellow pushing the gurney put a restraining hand on Jim's chest. "Mr. Banks is in the room with Dr. Sandburg. You will be able to talk to him soon."

Jim was quiet until they got him into the tunnel for the scan. "Hey... can somebody talk to me? When I'm racing in the car, there's this guy... he talks to me. I can't see him, but he talks to me."

The scan tech looked up at Dr. Sandburg. "Go ahead, talk to him. Just tell him to be still," Sandburg answered, as he looked at the images forming on the screen.

"He said he can't see," Simon said.

"Yeah, I know, I'm not surprised. I'll have to wait a bit longer for the images to finish forming but it looks like he just sloshed his brains around a bit; it's swelling inside his skull. See, here, and here," Blair continued, pointing out several darker spots with his light pen. "Those are the places where the swelling is the worst, and one is over his optical nerve."

"So it'll go away once the swelling goes down?"

"Yeah, it should." There was a prolonged silence as the CAT scan images finished forming and then were transferred to X ray film. "There we go. See, bruising and swelling." Blair turned to the tech. "Tell him that his brain is bruised, and like any bruise, it's going to swell. That's what's affecting his vision." The tech started repeating the doctor's information to Jim as Blair turned to Simon. "I need to know about his helmet. Was it dented, broken, anything like that?"

"No, don't think so."

"Scratched?"

"Um, yeah, I think it was scratched, in front and in back."

"Great. All the way back?"

"Yeah."

"Wonderful."

"And just why is that wonderful?"

"Because it gives me an idea of impact speed and direction and what percentage of that made it through to his head and the possible fracture lines of his skull." He leaned over the intercom. "When you get back to your room, Mr. Ellison, the nurse is going to give you something to help you sleep for the next day or so, when it wears off you should notice a definite difference in your eyesight."

"You mean I'll be able to see?" he questioned the voice.

"That's correct."

"Will I be able to see like before?"

Blair's head raised sharply at that question. "What do you mean, like before?"

"Nothing, man, nothing."

Blair let it go for a moment, slipping his pencil through the top of his clipboard, and then sitting on the edge of the console as Jim was taken out of the tunnel. "Frankly, Mr. Banks, you're very lucky. It doesn't appear as though Mr. Ellison was hurt nearly as badly as he could have been. If he hadn't been wearing the extra gloves I think his hands would have been burned quite badly, and I must ask, did the firemen put out a fire inside the car because his jumpsuit was wetter than it should have been if he had been merely soaking in sweat."

"No, I can explain that one. It's an old trick we use on hot days to keep the guys cool. The newer chiefs don't use it but us old fellas do. You take a garden hose and soak your driver before you put him in the car."

"Oh yes, I see! The water acts as sweat and evaporates under the suit and helps keep his body cooler, quite amazing. Then that would explain that anomaly. I could not figure out why he was so soaked without being dehydrated."

"I don't know anything about the gloves though," Simon confessed.

"Well, perhaps Jim can tell us himself later. But he had on two pairs of black driving gloves under the racing gloves," Blair said, flipping through the chart. "The racing gloves and the first pair of gloves were cut up and scorched, but it seems they took the most of the damage. I suspect Mr. Ellison will be up and about in a day or two, and probably cleared to race within the month."

"That's great news, Doc. Can I wait in the room with him?"

Blair almost protested, but a look at the crew chief revealed his concern and caring for the injured man. "Of course you can but the rest of them will have to wait outside the room, in the waiting area," he said, nodding towards the rest of the crew who were crowded around the door waiting to pounce on Simon. "I believe I'll let you go first," he added with a smile.

Simon headed into the crowd of people, and dispersed them as he gave out the doctor's information. Blair shook his head gently to see them all so concerned about one patient. The other driver's crew had been just the same way, flocking around the woman and protecting her. _There must be something about drivers,_ he thought to himself.

~ * ~ * ~

When Jim woke up, he found Simon sitting in the room with him. His vision was blurry as he focused on the crew chief, but it was getting clearer by the moment. "Sy."

"Jim! You're awake! He's awake!" Simon bellowed to the men in the hall, and they started pouring in, led by Henri who was being guided in by a young kid on the team named Rafe Matheson.

"Jim? Jim where are ya, man?" Henri was wearing a pair of dark glasses and tapping around the room with a cane.

"Right here, asshole," Jim answered softly, kicking out weakly at Henri's offending props.

His kick fell short and Henri clapped him around the shoulder. "Damn glad to see you up and going, man, we were worried about you there for a while."

"I was worried about me too." Jim struggled and finally pulled himself up into a sitting position, looking around. "What day?"

"Tuesday," Simon answered. "You been out for a couple of days."

The jocularity in the room had caught the attention of the floor nurse, who'd in turn paged Dr. Sandburg. Blair finished up with Megan, made several notations on the chart, and then headed down towards Jim's room. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I need to examine Mr. Ellison please."

Jim focused his eyes on the new arrival to the room. About six or so inches shorter than he was, with long wavy hair that was tied back into a scrappy ponytail. A white lab coat and a stethoscope completed the doctor's outfit, but it was the man's face that gave away the fact that he wasn't a doctor. The small wire-rim glasses that perched on his face gave him a few years more of age, but still, the man didn't look a day over thirty. Unlike the fake cop, however, there was a magnetism that surrounded the young doctor, and Jim was immediately drawn to him. "I just bet you do," the driver said softly. _I have got to thank Simon for setting this up, I am not letting this one get away in the morning._ "And I bet I know just what you're looking for."

Simon closed his eyes for a second. _Shit._ "Uh, Jim... this isn't..."

"Gentlemen, please, I need to begin this examination as quickly as possible, I do have other patients to tend to," Blair said with a slight grin. _Though none quite so attractive as this one._ But he squelched that wholly unprofessional thought as he moved to the foot of Jim's bed, pulling his chart.

"Other patients, Doc? I find that hard to believe," Jim said, capturing the man's wrist and pulling him around to the edge of the bed.

"Jim, I really think you need to know this isn't..."

"Isn't what, Simon?" Jim asked, his eyes locked onto the doctor's. Blair couldn't tear his eyes away from this man's as he felt Jim's hand gripping his wrist tightly. "Is this what you're looking for?" he asked Blair softly, guiding his hand downward.

Simon buried his face in his hands, cursing silently. He couldn't believe that Jim was doing this, and it was all his fault for setting up the goddamned cop thing in the first place.

Blair's face burned as his fingertips brushed the hem of Jim's hospital gown. _Oh my god._ He cleared his throat. "That's truly very impressive, Mr. Ellison, but I need to look at your eyes now."

It was Jim's turn to flush, and he turned scarlet from his hairline down through his chest. "Oh fuck."

"Not in my hospital, Mr. Ellison," Blair said with a slight clearing of his throat. "I'll come back later, when you're a bit more... yourself."

Jim threw a glare at Simon as Blair left the room. "Fuck you, man, why didn't you tell me he was the doctor?"

"I tried, man," Sy said, and let out a little giggle. "We'll come back later," he said, shooing everyone out of the room.

Jim collapsed backward on the bed, silently cursing and rubbing his face. _Fuck fuck fuck! I can't believe I made such an ass out of myself!_

Simon darted out of the room and caught up to the doctor. "Doc! Hey, Doc."

"Yes, Mr. Banks." Blair was trying desperately to hold onto his composure until he could make it to the locker room. Only then could he let the trembling overtake him that the man's simple touch had caused.

"Look, I think I better explain that back there. A while back, after he'd won a race or two... well, he's a cocky SOB and we got a male stripper guy to dress up as a cop to knock him down a peg or two... he thought we were doing that again this time, that's all."

Blair took off his glasses and polished them on his coattail as he looked at Simon. "And why should it matter to me what Mr. Ellison thought?" _By the way he responded to me I'd say that stripper didn't do anything but turn him on!_

"Jim's a good man, Doc. I didn't want you to think badly of him--that's not how he usually is. He's a good fella, even if he is stubborn, headstrong, and arrogant."

"Don't worry, Mr. Banks, I won't hold it against him," Blair confessed with a smile. "While it's the first time that I've been mistaken for a stripper, it's not the first time someone just waking up from medication and a head injury has made improper advances towards me." _And it was a thoroughly pleasant experience, believe me!_

Simon exhaled softly. "Thanks, Doc. That'd mean a lot to him, I'm sure."

"Mr. Banks... as far as I'm concerned, it never happened. You can pass that along to Mr. Ellison as well." Blair disappeared down the hallway, ducking into the doctor's locker room and locking himself in one of the bathroom stalls. Only then did he allow his body to tremble. He could not get Ellison's eyes out of his mind, nor could he get away from the sparks that still seemed to course through his body from the simple contact. _That is your patient, Doctor!_ he reminded himself sharply, but that didn't stop the trembling nor the insidious snaking fire of arousal that slithered through his veins at the remembrance of the hard heat that his fingertips had brushed against. _Doctor Sandburg, that man is your patient! Either you get yourself under control you will step down from his case immediately!_ he told himself sternly. That seemed to work as his shaking slowly subsided. _I can't step down because he won't get the best care possible because let's face it, I am the best,_ he continued mentally with the hint of a smile. _After he's been released, then I can crawl into him and not come out for a week. Right! There you go, Sandburg, see, you can find solutions to problems that everyone can live with._ Then he looked down. _And you, you just need to show less interest!_

The insistent tapping on the door stalls brought Blair out of his pleasant thoughts. "Dr. Sandburg?"

Blair flushed the toilet and then stepped out of the stall. "Right here, what can I do for you?" he said, discreetly adjusting himself and tucking his shirt in at the same time. He washed his hands at the sink as he listened to the young courier talk.

"I have some papers for you, Dr. Sandburg. They're the medical records you requested from Indianapolis on Mr. James Ellison."

"Oooh, great, let me have those." Blair snatched those out of the kid's hands and started flipping through them. "I've been waiting for these, thanks." _Aha. Odd... but that would make sense!_ the doctor thought to himself. _Either his psychoses are so far advanced and yet so complex he believes them thoroughly without them interfering in his normal life, or these aren't psychotic hallucinations!_ He thought back to something he'd read in college, a book that had been recommended reading in early anthropology--his initial major, now a minor before switching to medical school. He didn't remember the name of the book now or even who'd written it, but he did remember one thing about the book. _Tribal members who were born with five heightened senses were called Sentinels... there hasn't been a documented case of all five senses in centuries, but there have been cases of two or three! The extra sets of gloves, the hallucinations documented here... they're not hallucinations, they just mean that he may have hyperactive senses!_ Blair was bouncing in the doorway. _And he knows he has them!_ Blair realized in a flash. _He asked in the CAT scan tunnel if he'd see like he saw before! That would mean he's got four and possibly all five, this could be a scientific miracle!_ Then he realized something. _No he doesn't know what he's got, he just knows he's got something. And if the world finds out about this... it's going to be the end of this guy's normal life. I gotta find that book again; I gotta find a way to help him._

With that thought in mind, he headed back to Jim's room. Simon and the others were gone, and the driver was sitting up on the side of the bed. "Come on in, Doc," Jim said, without looking up.

"Mr. Ellison--how did you know it was me?"

"Who else would it be?" Jim asked, lying back down on the bed. He'd yet to look at the doctor. "Dr. Sandburg--"

"Blair, please. And Mr. Ellison, don't worry. As far as I am concerned, it never happened. Or if it makes you more comfortable, it was the medication and the head trauma. I don't hold you responsible."

"If I'm going to call you Blair, then you have to call me Jim." He met the doctor's eyes finally with his own and was graced with a small smile. "Thanks, Doc."

"You're welcome." He pulled up the chair to sit beside Jim's bed. "Jim, I just got your records from Indianapolis, and I think we need to talk."

"Doc--"

"Just hear me out please? The first thing I want to say is, I don't think you're hallucinating." Blair smiled again as Jim's eyes flew up to lock on his. "I think you're telling the truth. Give me a few days to do some research after work, and I'll get back with you about it. But you're not hallucinating, and you're not crazy." He patted Jim's hand. "I'll be back before my shift ends to check you out, and tomorrow we're going to release you and Megan if you both check out."

"Thanks, Doc. For everything." He couldn't speak, he was so relieved.

"Don't worry, Jim, you'll be around in no time."

~ * ~ * ~

The next morning, Doctor Sandburg was true to his word. He'd already started the procedure to release both patients but Big John and Nascar demanded a meeting. While he had the conference room readied for the meeting, he sent for Jim and Megan to be brought there.

Two nurses wheeled them out of their rooms, and Jim eyed Megan warily. Megan passed Jim a look of complete distaste, and reached down, spinning the wheels of her wheelchair and putting herself ahead of Jim. Jim of course would not stand for that, and reached down, spinning his own wheels and putting himself ahead of Megan. From that point on, it was a race. Jim and Megan stayed within half a chair length of each other, neither one consistently leading as they careened around corners, bumping into walls and each other, and then using their hands to shove each other aside as they careened to a halt in front of Dr. Sandburg. "Good morning, Megan, Jim. If you'll just come this way."

Both drivers had the good graces to blush as Big John glared at them as they rolled in. Once they were in position, Blair started the meeting. "As you can see in these scans, the residual swelling in their brainpans has--"

"Look, Doc, I don't mean to be rude, but can we cut to the chase here? Did they scramble their brains or not?"

Blair was slightly nettled by John's crude interruption. "Their brains are completely in tact, or at least as much as they were before the accident." He caught Jim's eyes with his own, and shook his head slightly. _That insult is not meant for you, Jim._ He couldn't explain why he felt so drawn to this driver and not the woman but there it was.

"Doc, could you excuse us please?" John had yet to turn around and look at Jim and Megan, and he waited for Blair to excuse himself.

"Of course. Mr. Ellison, I need to speak with you before you leave," Blair said, walking out the door.

"Of course," Jim answered, and then listened to the door shut. He listened for Blair to walk away, but the doctor remained outside the door.

"Okay. It's Big John's turn now." John turned around and glared at the two drivers. "I don't give a shit about you two. Neither does anyone else. If you two want to make damn fools of yourselves and turn yourself into a couple of greasy spots out on some country road, that's fine. Go ahead and do it. But you're not gonna do it on my racetrack. If I catch the two of you tapping each other, rubbing each other, trading paint with each other, even just looking at each other out on the track, I'm gonna black flag the both of you for three hundred laps, take your cars apart, and then after that, if I think you've learned your lesson, then I might think about letting you put your cars back together. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a long, sullen silence and finally Jim gave in. "Yes, sir."

Megan finally spoke after Jim did, hating he beat her to it. "Yes, sir."

"Good, glad to hear it." John threw a set of rental car keys on the table, landing in front of both of them. "Just to prove there's no hard feelings, we're all going to have dinner together."

"I can't--"

"We have plans--"

"You can, and break 'em," John said, without chance of negotiation. "We are having dinner. Together. Tonight. Hansen's. And just to show we're all one big happy racing family, you're driving to dinner in the same car. Seven o'clock. Don't be late."

Blair was waiting outside the door for Jim, and Jim almost passed him by in his impatience. "Yes, Dr. Sandburg."

"Let me take you back to your room, Mr. Ellison, I just have a few questions about your discharge forms," he said quietly.

"No problem... lead the way."

"Promise you won't race me there?" Blair asked with an impish grin, putting his hands on the handles of Jim's wheelchairs.

"I wouldn't do that to you, Doc, not after you been so nice to me." Jim leaned back and enjoyed the ride until he was back in the room, and then he got out of the chair and started putting his things in the duffel bag. "What did you find, Doc?"

Blair flipped through some of the papers he carried. "Well, after running down some more of your medical records, I agree with your conclusion that you do have all five heightened senses."

"Thanks," Jim said dryly. "I wouldn't know, I just live with them, that's all."

"That makes you a very special case, Jim, one of a kind."

"Yeah, well, it also makes it damn hard to drive racecars. How do I get rid of it?"

"You can't get rid of it, Jim, you have to keep it, have to learn to control it! It's impossible to get rid of; it's bred in your genetics and you can't get rid of it."

"Great, so just give me something to take the edge off."

Blair sighed. "I could do that, yes, but you'd never be able to race again. The dosages would be so high, that you'd be physically unable to drive safely."

"Shit," Jim cursed softly. "There's got to be something I can do."

"Yeah, there is. Learn to control it, I can help you with that. Are you staying in Florida long?"

"No, I got to get back to Charlotte soon; Bill's already picking out a driver to replace me and if I don't get myself back in shape, then I don't have a chance of getting back in that car."

Blair sighed. "I won't be able to make it down to Charlotte for a while yet; I do know there's an opening in their trauma center, they've been after me for a couple of years now to take it. If I took it, that would mean that we'd have a better chance of working together but you'd still be doing a lot of racing."

"Yeah, but we'd also have the entire off season to work together plus when possible I come back to Charlotte."

"Okay, great, it's settled. As soon as I make some contacts, I'll be moving."

~ * ~ * ~

Jim threw his duffel into the saddlebag of his motorcycle, which was parked beside the rental car.

Megan whistled. "Hey, hot shot... over here." She dangled the keys over the roof of the car. "Now... I think we agree that I'm not gonna let you drive this car to dinner. And, we agree that you're not gonna let me drive this car to dinner. So, we got only one choice, as I see it."

Jim followed Megan's gaze to the Hertz car rental across the street. "Absolutely," Jim said with a nod.

~ * ~ * ~

A half hour later, the two of them were in a pair of Chevy Luminas. Jim was right at home; his chassis was a Lumina chassis and he knew the car like the back of his hand. Megan on the other hand was used to a Dodge and the Lumina while easy to drive was a new element for her.

"Are you ready?" Jim yelled, and Megan revved the motor in response. Both drivers took off in the street cars and the race was on. Jim and Megan both slammed into each other several times, and Megan got pushed across the center line while Jim got nudged into the ditch. Their paint jobs got scratched to pieces; pieces of the cars were left behind in the street as Jim's Lumina jumped the curbing and pulled into the parking lot first. Megan jumped the curbing right behind him, and they walked into together, smiling. "Sorry we're late."

"Traffic was a bitch," Megan finished, sharing a smile with Jim.

~ * ~ * ~

Dinner was a tense affair but both drivers made it through unscathed. After dinner, Jim and Megan both made sure to depart before anyone else did, hiding the damage to their rentals and covering it with the fact that since they drove together they had to leave together, and they really both did need their rest. Big John of course was gracious and let the two drivers leave together, and Jim and Megan returned their wrecked rentals to the agency and gladly paid the damage fees as long as it stayed quiet.

Jim was crossing back over to his motorcycle when he saw Dr. Sandburg leaving the hospital. "Blair!"

Blair immediately recognized Jim's voice and paused, waiting for him to catch up. "Jim. How was dinner?"

Jim laughed softly. "You don't want to know. Up for a few drinks?"

"Not tonight, I have early shift tomorrow."

"I gotta leave tomorrow, Doc." He reached up and pushed hair out of Blair's eyes, where the breeze had blown it loose from the ponytail. "How about taking me to the airport tomorrow? I'll have to pack my bike in the hauler anyway, Big John is flying Megan and me and the crews back, and... and I'd much rather spend the time in the car with you than with Sy and the guys."

Blair was still as Jim played with his hair, but his heart pounded and he knew the other man heard it. "After my shift. I get off at three."

"My flight's at four thirty."

"I'll pick you up outside the hospital."

"I'll be here." He moved closer to Blair, as though leaning in to kiss him, and he was surprised to feel rather than see the other man take a step back.

"Just you remember, Jim Ellison, until you're cleared to race, I'm your doctor," he said, as way of reminder and explanation. "I don't want you going to any crackpot around Charlotte, if you have a headache, a case of the sniffles, even a bellyache, I want you on the phone to me, got it, Mister?"

Jim saluted smartly. "Yes, sir Doctor Blair sir!"

Blair laughed. "Out, Mr. Ellison, I will see you tomorrow." Jim turned away and Blair rested his hand on the small of Jim's back for an instant. "Just remember to practice with those dials."

~ * ~ * ~

The next afternoon, Jim was waiting for Blair in front of the hospital, just as he'd been ordered to. When Blair saw him standing there, he waved the big man over and slid over to the passenger side, and Jim crouched to look in the open window. "Come on and drive, big man. I gotta see how you're doing."

Jim got into the car's driver side and belted in his seat belt. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked, over the honking of the guy in the car behind him. "Cover your ears, Doc." Jim laid on the horn in response until the car behind him stopped. There was a moment of quiet and then the spin of wheels as the car behind him tapped the back end of the doctor's car.

"I think I'm sure... Jim, what are you doing!"

"Hold on, Doc." The Nascar driver slammed the gas pedal down as he shifted into reverse, and rubbed the car behind him in return for the earlier tap. The car--a taxicab--swerved when Jim rubbed it and pulled out into traffic, Jim doing the same and chasing the cab through the four lane highway.

Blair was scrabbling for the door handle. "Let me out of the car, Jim. Let me out of the car!" Jim wasn't listening, Blair could see that, and he finally got the door open. Jim caught that, and slammed on the brakes as Blair swung the door open, and turned off the ignition as he jumped out.

"Blair, what are you doing!"

"What am I doing?" yelled the doctor. "What are you doing! You don't belong behind the wheel of a car, much less a race car. You're nothing but an infantile egomaniac who when he gets out on a circle with thirty or forty other infantile egomaniacs loses all control of his head and starts thinking with his testosterone. You're a danger to yourself and to anyone else who's behind the wheel of a car." His hand cracked hard against Jim's face. "Go to hell, Jim... you just made me sound like a doctor!"

Blair got behind the wheel of the car, leaving Jim standing on the corner, looking behind him, and holding the handprint against his cheek.

~ * ~ * ~

On the airplane, Sy sat across from the stonily silent Jim. He'd rebuffed everyone's attempt at conversation and had in fact moved to the back of the plane, away from everyone else. "Jimbo." Jim didn't respond, but that didn't surprise Simon at all. "Jim. I've got something you should hear. Bill's... got a new replacement driver for you." Jim glared at Simon, but didn't say anything. "His name... is Stephen."

Jim sat straight up at that. "As in my kid brother Stevie Ellison?" Those had been the first words Jim had spoken.

Simon nodded miserably. "Fraid so."

He laughed bitterly. "Well, isn't that just fucking ducky." He pulled his hat down over his eyes and settled back into his chair.

"Jim--"

"I do **not** want to talk about my kid brother or my father right now, all right? Thanks." Jim's tone indicated that this was the end of the subject.

~ * ~ * ~

As soon as they got back to Charlotte, Jim made a beeline for the garage and the closest telephone. The first number he dialed was Blair's, and he got the pager's voicemail. "Doc, it's Jim. I just got in... I wanted to say I'm sorry for that stunt back in Daytona... I didn't mean to put you in danger like that. I just... lost my cool. Call me at the garage--704-393-5545--or my cell, 704-819-5161. I'm sorry, Blair." He hung up, and then got back on the phone, calling information and getting the names and numbers of every florist in Daytona county.

~ * ~ * ~

When Blair walked into his apartment, he was overwhelmed with flowers, gifts, stuffed animals, potted plants of every type imaginable to mankind. The telephone was ringing, and as soon as he picked up, he heard Jim's voice. "So what do you think, Doc?"

"I think I walked into a jungle. You're forgiven," he said, reading the cards on several of the flower bouquets. "You okay? You sounded a little stressed out on your message."

Jim sighed as he sat down in the garage, against the door, blocking it and ensuring himself privacy. "No, I'm not okay. My dad is my team owner and he got my kid brother as a replacement for me."

"Well, pardon my saying so but that sounds like a bastard of a thing to do to your kids, pitting them against each other," Blair said, finally making space on one of the couches so he could sit down. The jungle closed immediately around him, and he smiled, breathing in the fragrance.

"It's what Pops has always done. Blair... I gotta get back in the car, and I gotta get back now."

"Not yet, Jim, you're not ready, I'm sorry. But I'm glad you called; we need to talk about Megan."

"Megan?" Jim's voice changed to one of slight concern. "What about Megan?"

"I think she's worse than she's letting on. I've been studying both your CAT scans trying to estimate a return date for both of you, but as I've compared the scans, the damage to her brain was more extensive than I realized. I wouldn't have realized the extent of it if I hadn't been comparing the scans. See if you can get her to come back down here, Jim. She could be in real trouble. You're her friend; talk to her."

~ * ~ * ~

(concluded in the next chapter)

Back to index

* * *

#### Chapter 2: Continuation and Ending

The next afternoon, Jim was over at Megan's, knocking on the door. "Jim! This is a surprise."

"Yeah, I know. Is for me too," he said, shaking hands with her. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course, come on. Jim, this is my husband, Joel. Joel, this is Jim Ellison."

"You mean that little punk with a hot rod shoved up his ass?" he said, laughing. "Damn nice to meet you, Jim, I've heard a lot about you."

"Yeah, I just bet you have," he grinned, shaking the other man's hand. "Not all of it true, I'm sure."

Megan slapped Joel on the arm, and weaseled her way in between him and Jim. "Want a beer, Jim?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." Jim followed Megan into the kitchen. "Megan... we need to talk."

"Yeah, about what?"

"Megan... I talked to Dr. Sandburg. He wants you to head back to Daytona. He says there's a possibility that you've been hurt worse than they thought at first."

Megan shook her head as she popped the top on drinks for her and Jim. "Not possible, Jim, I'm healthy as a horse and just waiting on that damn doctor to get me back in the car so I can kick your ass."

Jim clinked the neck of his bottle against hers. "And I'll kick your ass as soon as we get back in the car but that's not the point. The point is, you may be hurt worse. The longer you delay, the longer it'll be before you get back in the race."

"Dammit, Ellison, nobody in my family goes to the doctor unless we're dying and I'm not. You and I both know that if that'd been one of our boys down here, we'd have been back in the cars within a week."

Jim said nothing as he sipped his beer. "I trust Sandburg, Conner. So should you. He's only looking out for you."

"Thanks, Jim, but I can look out for myself."

~ * ~ * ~

A week later, Jim was back on the phone with Blair. "She's not listening but I think you're right. I think she's getting worse."

"Why, what have you seen?"

"Nothing specific, I just notice the way Joel watches her like she's been doing unexpected things and he's worried about her, and she's been drinking a lot lately... I'm almost ashamed to admit it but she's drinking me under the table at least two bottles to one."

"You been spending a lot of time with her, Jim?"

"Yeah, been going to see her every day. Trying to talk her into going back to Daytona; even offered to take her myself and go with her, but no go."

"I'll talk to the head of my department down here. My time at the hospital is almost up; I should be heading down your way permanently, end of next week. If I present Megan's case, I know I can get down there early."

"You can crash with me," Jim said. "I got a loft with a spare room; I'd be thrilled to have you stay with me until you get things... worked out."

Blair twirled the cord of the phone around his finger. "I'll take you up on that." He laughed as he heard Jim's muffled whoop on the other end of the phone. "While I'm down there, I'll... check you out." Another muffled whoop that echoed in the garage, and Blair let a giggle squeeze out. "I'll call you back with the flight as soon as I have it."

"I'll meet you at the airport, take your bags."

"Any other... problems?" Blair asked significantly.

"Nothing major. That thing you did with the dials... that worked. I gotta practice dialing stuff up and down to find the right level but... they did the trick."

"I'm thrilled to hear that, man. I can't wait to get there and work with you in person."

"Me either, Doc... me either."

~ * ~ * ~

A few days later, Jim was driving unauthorized laps at the track when Simon called him through the headset. "Jim! Doc Sandy's on the horn!"

"Hot damn. Tell him to hang on, I'll be right there." He floored the car to 180 and pulled into the pits, crawling out of the car almost before the ignition and turned off. "Hey, Doc."

"James Joseph Ellison, if that was a racecar I heard powering down, I am personally going to put my foot up your ass!"

Jim ducked into the showers and locked the door. "I was hoping it wouldn't be your foot," he said, flushing as he spoke.

On the other end of the phone, Blair cleared his throat, blushing as well. "Ahem. You know you're not supposed to be in a car yet."

"Doc, if I didn't, I'd be losing my mind."

"Well, I won't tell Nascar if you don't."

"I'd be forever in your debt."

"Just get your indebted ass over to the airstrip. I hopped a private flight with a friend of mine; bring that truck you told me about and we'll haul my stuff to your place before heading out to see Megan."

Jim couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. "I'll be right there, Doc." Jim sprinted out to the track to find Simon. "I gotta go! Doc's coming down to check me and Megan out for himself! I gotta go pick him up at the airport!"

Simon shook his head and just looked at Jim. "And what are we supposed to do with the car?"

"Drive it up into the hauler," Jim said, grabbing his jacket and heading out to the parking lot.

"Jim! Dammit, Jim... be careful!"

"I always am, Chief!" He slammed the door to the truck and cranked it up, and as soon as he pulled out into the interstate, he let loose with a loud whoop. Blair was coming down, already here in fact, just waiting for Jim to pick him up. _He better have those damn release papers!_

~ * ~ * ~

Jim picked Blair up at the airport, and it was only by intense control that he didn't push Blair against the door of the truck and kiss him.

"You are gonna drive safe this time, right?" Blair asked, fastening his seat belt.

"Of course," Jim said, watching as the last of Blair's luggage was packed inside the Explorer and the window shut down. "Back to my place."

"That's fine, I can check you out there, then we can go and check Megan."

"Right." Jim held the speedometer at sixty-five all the way down the interstate and then on the dirt road that led to Jim's loft. He helped carry Blair's bags upstairs and then sat on the couch, staring at Blair.

Blair grinned, and threw Jim a hospital gown. "Go change for the exam."

Jim snorted. "You just want to see my ass," he came back, heading to the bathroom to change as Blair unpacked his instruments.

Jim came back in the gown, and Blair patted the counter. "Up."

Jim did everything he could to try and seduce Blair while Blair was examining him. It culminated during the eye exam. "What do you see in there?" Jim asked curiously.

"Your retina," Blair responded, gazing into the depths of Jim's left eye. "And your iris. Quite beautiful, actually." Jim leaned forward and tried to kiss Blair, but the doctor stepped away and switched eyes. "Look at the wall please." Chastened, Jim obeyed.

Soon, Blair was finished with the exam. "You're fine. You're cleared to race. Put on your clothes," he said, dropping the scopes into his bag and walking out of the room and into the hallway.

Jim pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, following Blair out into the hallway as he was dressing. "How could you be ignoring me in there?"

Blair's hands shot out, locking themselves in Jim's shirt as he pushed the larger man into the wall. "I wasn't ignoring you, jackass," he said, wrapping one leg around Jim's waist and kissing him hard.

Jim's hand came up to lock into Blair's hair, tugging gently and kissing harder, his tongue pushing through to instantly savor and possess Blair's. His dials exploded as the doctor's mouth touched his, and Jim couldn't force them back down again. _Fuck it, we will talk later,_ Jim thought, moving his mouth down Blair's throat as he pulled urgently at the white lab coat. Blair's hands were moving all around, stripping Jim quickly of his t-shirt and heading down towards his jeans. Jim's hands were already inside the doctor's khakis, lifting and kneading his buttocks as Blair urged him towards the bedroom.

~ * ~ * ~

Blair woke to Jim's hand running up and down his leg. "What do you find so fascinating about my leg?"

"It's beautiful and it's got a nice, sweet curve in it," Jim answered, running his fingers along Blair's knee. "This kind of curve is built for drafting."

"Drafting?" asked Blair, amused.

"Yeah, I'll show you." Jim reached over to the dresser and took two of the unopened condoms, and put them on Blair's leg, right below the knee. "See, here's how drafting works. The driver of the second car... gets very close to the first car... into the first car's air stream, so that the first car is pulling the second car behind it. The first car has to work harder to pull both of them along, which gives the second car just a bit more of an edge, so he can pull around... and pass in the curve," he said, manipulating the two condoms as he spoke, "... and bring them to the home stretch," he finished, sending the condoms under the blanket and closer to Blair's groin.

Blair laughed softly. "Just how it's done, hmm?" he said, catching Jim's hand and kissing it. "We need to go see Megan."

Jim was reluctant to roll out of bed, but he followed Blair. "Anyone ever tell you how sexy you are, Doc?"

"Nobody that meant it seriously," Blair said with a laugh.

Jim reached out and tugged Blair's curly hair. "I mean it."

"I know you do, big guy."

~ * ~ * ~

Jim and Blair rolled up to Megan's driveway, and Joel met them at the door. "Hey, Jim."

"Hey, Joel. This is Dr. Sandburg, that I told you about."

"Nice to meet you," Blair said.

"How you doin', Doc?" Joel asked. "I'm really kinda glad you're here. Jim, I think she's getting worse and you know how stubborn Megan can get."

"Yeah, I know. Let me go and talk to her; Doc, stay here with Joel." Jim wove into the house to find Megan shooting pool alone, and Jim picked up a cue. "Rack my balls, baby."

"Fuck off, Jim, you're messing up my shot." Megan lined up her next shot as Jim wandered around the room, looking at the trophies.

"Wow, this is a great one, what's this one for?"

Megan threw a quick look over at the silver trophy and then back at her game. "How the hell should I know, doesn't it say?"

"Yeah, sure does. Winston Cup, that's a hard one to remember all right. What about this one? And what's your name or has that slipped your mind too?"

"Jim!"

"Dammit, Megan, the time has come! Either you go and talk to the doctor or we take care of this right now, between you and me, because it ends here!" Jim brandished the pool cue as he spoke, bringing it crashing down on the pool table in front of Megan. In the other room, Joel and Blair both jumped. Megan said nothing, only followed Jim to the other room.

A few minutes later, Megan was dressed in the hospital gown and Blair was examining her. "Stand up. Feet together, arms out, palms up." Megan followed the instructions, a bit slowly. "Good, now close your eyes." Megan closed them, and then collapsed. Blair struggled to catch the larger woman, and Jim sprinted over, helping to ease Megan down on the floor, where she came to moments later. "That's it. Joel, pack a bag for Megan. We're taking her with us, back to the hospital."

~ * ~ * ~

Jim was back in his racecar, alone now. He'd come to the track expecting to see his dad on hand, and he was there, just not in Jim's stall. He was busy in front of the cameras, smiling and supporting Stevie. His new driver. The star pupil, the better son. All the press were clamoring over the father/son deal, and Jim jumped when Simon slammed the hood down on the car. "You should have let me tell them he was your father too," the crew chief said darkly. "He's a slimy sumbitch and he shouldn't be getting the good press the way he's puttin' the screws to you, Jimbo."

Jim shrugged. "I don't lay claim to him, Sy. As far as I'm concerned, it was a genetic accident and a bad break that we share the same last name."

"Doc Sandy said to watch you out there today and make sure you weren't worrying about Megan. He said to tell you, she's in the best hands. His."

"Yeah, yeah, I know that. I tell you, Sy... I looked forward so much to getting back into this car and now that I have to do it... I'm scared."

Simon nodded. "Don't worry about it, Jimbo. Ignore Stephen, win the race, and you'll get your balls back."

"Gee, thanks," he said dryly, taking the helmet from his friend.

"Seriously, Jim... you'll do fine. Don't lose it on me out there."

~ * ~ * ~

Jim was running dead last in the race and five miles an hour slower than everyone else. He tried to clear his head but he couldn't help thinking of Megan in the hospital, her head so messed up she couldn't remember anything, couldn't help thinking that it could have been him in there, he was in the same wreck too, what if this happened to him, it just took longer to show up?

"Jimbo, hey man, talk to me, what's wrong?"

"Nothing--nothing's wrong." Jim was sweating in the car like a pig, and it wasn't even half as hot out. His jumpsuit felt like sandpaper against his skin and he couldn't dial it down. _You got to get out of this car before it kills you!_ sounded in his head, and he floored the car. It jumped forward and jerked the steering wheel out of his hands, but he recovered quickly and kept his foot on the pedal.

"That's it, Jimbo, get back into the race," encouraged Simon from the pits.

Jim didn't respond to that, just kept his foot on the pedal, watching the redline on the RPMs. Finally the needle went over the redline, and a gout of fire and smoke poured out from under the car as he headed for the skirt and limped into pit road on a blown engine.

Simon met him at the wall as he was crawling out of the car. "Wanna tell me what happened out there?"

"The engine blew."

"How?"

"I don't know how, it just did." Jim pushed back through Simon to shut himself off in the small office there, shaking against the cinderblocks.

Simon walked over to the car and pressed the recovery button, and the RPM indicator showed 9000 RPMs. _He blew it on purpose,_ Simon thought, shaking his head. He stormed over to the office. "Jimbo, open up this door or I'm kicking the sumbitchin' thing in!" Jim didn't respond and it took three kicks of the big man's foot but the door broke down on Jim sitting against the cinderblock wall. "You blew that engine on purpose because you're scared." No response from Jim. "You think that since it happened to Megan, it's going to happen to you and you're just waiting for that other shoe to drop and you to get sick and die, just like Megan. You're right, Jim... every time you get in the car like this you are gonna die a little bit inside because you're killin' yourself. Either get your head screwed on straight, or keep your ass outta my car." Jim still didn't respond, and Simon picked up the phone and dug out his wallet. Keeping one eye on Jim, he dialed Jim's home number.

Blair was just getting out of the shower when the phone was ringing. He'd seen Jim's engine blow on ESPN, and had turned the race off after that, and gotten into the shower. He answered it in Jim's bedroom. "Hello?"

"Doc Sandy, it's Sy."

"Sy? Is Jim all right?"

"Yeah, he's okay. He ain't hurt but he's scared. I'm sending his ass back home before the next race; see if you can't talk to him."

"Scared, of what?"

"Ask him," was Simon's response. "I'm gonna pack the car up in the hauler and get it on the way to Richmond but I'm packing his ass home to you."

"I'll do what I can but Simon... I'm not a psychiatrist."

"No, but you are his best chance."

Blair sat back on the couch, staring at the phone. _Jim... I don't know what I can say to you, man, but I'll figure out something._

~ * ~ * ~

A day and a half later, Blair was still sitting on the couch, waiting for Jim to come home. As soon as the driver walked in through the front door, Blair got up to meet him. "Hey, Jim."

"Not now, Doc." Jim pushed through the living room and up the stairs to the shower.

Undeterred, Blair picked up the dropped duffel and carried it upstairs to Jim's bedroom, dropping it on the bed and sitting himself on the steps so that if Jim tried to move around, he'd have to trip over the doctor.

Jim got out of the shower, towels draped around his waist and shoulders, and came out to find Blair blocking his way. Instead of trying to trip over the other man or talk to him, Jim ignored him, unpacking the dirty clothes and tossing them into a pile for later laundering as he changed into clean shorts and a tank top, and then flopped on the bed.

Blair moved from his seat on the stairs to flop on the bed beside Jim. He rested his chin on Jim's chest. "So you wanna talk about it?"

"No."

His finger moved up to draw aimless patterns on Jim's chest. "You wanna make love?"

Jim caught Blair's hand and kissed it. "Is there a price?"

Blair rolled out of bed. "Fuck you, Jim Ellison."

Jim sat up on the edge of the bed, looking at his angry lover. "Blair, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way." He held out his hand to Blair.

Blair softened as he heard Jim's apology, and he walked over to Jim, taking his outstretched hand and kissing it in return. "Accepted, Jim. But you gotta talk about it, Jim, you can't keep snapping at people and expecting them to take it in stride." He knelt between Jim's knees, looking up at his lover. "Talk to me, Jim, please."

Jim moved his free hand down to touch the side of Blair's face. "I'm scared, Doc. I'm scared that I'm going to end up like Megan, forgetting... forgetting everyone and everything that's important to me. It took this long for it to show up in her, what if I'm sick too, Doc? What if I'm sick too and it just takes it longer to show up in me, what then?"

Blair got up to sit beside Jim, holding his hands and pulling Jim's head to rest on his shoulder. "Jim, you're not going to end up like Megan. You're going to be fine, I promise." He dropped one of Jim's hands long enough to run his fingers through Jim's close-cropped hair. "I won't let anything happen to you. You just gotta get in that car, drive, and trust yourself."

"If I get in that car again, Blair, I'll die. I keep hearing that voice in my head, get out or you'll die, get out or you'll die. Every time... every time I see a crackup, I think that's the one that's going to kill me." He looked up at Blair, holding his lover's face tenderly. "And you... you make me feel so alive and I don't want to lose that feeling, ever, and it scares me when I get in the car and think that I'm going to die and never see you again."

"Jim... you're not going to die," Blair said softly. "You're going to get in the car and you're going to race, and you're going to win. And at the end of the race, I'm going to be waiting for you in Victory Lane or Winner's Circle or whatever it is they call it to congratulate you."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Jim. I'll be waiting there for you."

Jim was about to lean forward and kiss Blair when the phone rang. Jim sighed and ignored it, until Simon's voice rang through. "Jimbo. Got some bad news, Jim... we lost our sponsor. Seems Bill talked them into backing Stephen's team because they had a better chance of winnin'. Sorry, Jimbo."

Jim growled and grabbed the phone. "Sy."

"Jimbo, thought you would still be there. Sorry if I interrupted anything."

"You didn't. What's this, we lost our sponsor?"

"Yeah. Bill talked to them and got them to move over and run Stephen's team while you were out, and now that you're back and not winning.... They're not moving back over to us, and Bill's not gonna back us up on it."

"Fuck. I think it's time I had a talk with dear old daddy," Jim snarled as he hung up the phone. "Come on, Doc. We're going to Bill's."

"Dear old daddy?" Blair questioned.

"Yeah. Bill Ellison is the bastard known as my father. I'd prefer if that little tidbit didn't get spread around."

Blair scrabbled for the newspaper. "But... but that would make Stephen--"

"--My baby brother," Jim stated flatly.

"Wow." Blair hadn't known that Bill was his father, hadn't know that Stephen was Jim's brother. _That's a lot of baggage to carry around, man!_ "Hey, you, uh, you want me to drive?"

"You don't know where we're going; I'll be fine, Doc, I promise." He got up and pulled on a ribbed green V-neck and jeans, and his leather jacket. "You coming?"

"You want me to?"

Jim paused in the process of putting on his gloves. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't want you to."

"Then I'd love to come along." Blair followed Jim out the door. "Man... why the gloves?"

Jim dug in his pocket for his keys. "It's a habit, Doc. I don't really need them anymore, thanks to you, but I still tend to put them on out of habit." He looked down at his black-gloved hands. "And they feel good."

~ * ~ * ~

In a little over thirty minutes, Jim pulled into his father's drive. There had been nobody in the guardhouse but if there had been, Jim had been fully prepared to bully his way down. As it was, he pulled into his father's drive furiously angry.

Blair sensed it, saw it in the tight cordons of Jim's neck, and the grit of his teeth. He reached out and rubbed the top of Jim's gloved hand. "Calm down, Jim... this is your dad."

"Only by genetics," Jim spat out. "In the few months that I've known him, Simon's been more of a father to me than William Ellison's ever been. Notice Bill didn't darken the doorstep of my hospital room. He didn't call, send a card, send a note, send a fucking smoke signal. Instead he runs right out and gets my baby brother to replace me and puts all his money and faith and love on Stevie."

"Jim, calm down," Blair said, in a stern but quiet voice, and it worked to calm the ranting driver. _Burton was right,_ Blair thought. _Guide tricks work on any Sentinel._ "Jim, did I ever tell you what Sir Burton called people like you?" he asked, in the same Guide voice.

"No, you didn't, and I don't see--"

"He called them Sentinels. Other names were Great Watchers and Watchmen." Blair's voice didn't raise a single decibel as he continued distracting Jim. "That's what you are, Jim. You're a Sentinel."

"Sentinel," Jim said, rolling the word around in his mouth.

Blair smiled. _That's the ticket. Calmer, slightly cool, slightly collected and not at the boiling point._ "Okay. Hey, we gonna sit in the car all day, or are we gonna go talk to your pop?"

Jim snorted. "You're the one who distracted me, Doc." Blair met Jim at the front of the Explorer and followed him up the gravel pathway and up the three steps to the front door, on which Jim pounded explosively. "Bill! It's Jim, open the fucking door!"

Blair sighed. _What happened to calm?_

Bill opened the door, looking surprisingly old. "Hello, Jimmy."

"Hello, Jim? That's all you have to say to me, you conniving bastard?" Jim pushed past his dad and into the foyer.

"Um... hi. Dr. Blair Sandburg."

"How are you doing, Dr. Sandburg? I hear it's due to your care of Jimmy that he's standing here today, thank you."

Jim's ears did not miss that quiet comment, and he snorted. "Like you gave a shit. I didn't see you the first time."

"Jimmy--"

"Save it, okay? I don't want to hear your platitudes, your excuses or anything else. I just want to know why aren't you backing me up with the sponsors? Why are you pushing them towards Stevie? Dammit, Bill--"

"Jimmy, would it hurt you for once in your life to call me Dad?"

"Why? You've never acted like one."

"What I did with the sponsors was--"

Jim held up his hand. "Let me guess... strictly business?"

Bill Ellison deflated. "Yes. Jim, look how long you were out. When you did finally get back in the car, you blew the engine. I heard the talk on the headphones, Jimmy. I heard Sy tell you to stay the hell out of his car if you can't get screwed on straight. Stephen's got a solid run this year, Jim."

"You always did want a wedge between me and Stevie... congratulations, Dad, you got it."

"Jim, don't blame your brother for this, it wasn't his idea. I pushed him to drive for you and I told him it would be better if it were family that took over for you."

Jim was pacing around the room, and Blair had been uncannily silent, his eyes watching his lover as Jim stalked. "Doc, you're the head specialist around here, why don't you poke around in his head and find out what the hell is wrong up there?" he said, finally dropping onto the couch beside Blair.

Blair didn't say a word, but placed his hand on the small of Jim's back. _When I got that damn anthro minor I never thought I'd be Guiding an honest to God Sentinel!_ "Jim, just calm down. Yelling and calling names isn't doing anyone any good. Whatever Bill did, I'm sure he had reason for it. It's not a personal affront to you."

"The hell it's not, Doc. It's been this way ever since me and Stevie were kids."

Blair picked up on the fact that Jim called him Stevie and everyone else called him Stephen, and filed that away for consideration later. "Jim. Don't make this personal, all right? It's business. You were driving for your pop, got yourself hurt, he brought your brother in, and now he's trying to give Stephen the same chance you got."

"Yeah, but at **my** expense! I got no problem with Stevie being a driver, hell, he's a damn good one, but we shouldn't be competing for sponsors **or** our father's attentions!"

Blair had no quiet comeback for that explosive diatribe, but Bill did. "Jimmy--"

"Call me Jimmy one more goddamned time, and I'll deck you."

"Jim, Stephen's a great driver. He proved it when he subbed for you, and this year, I think he's just got a better chance than you do. Next year I'll have enough assets to back you both without having to choose."

"Next year, Pops, I'm not going to be on the Ellison Racing Teams. I'll find another owner to drive for--one that's not going to bite me in the back." He leaned back into Blair's calming hand. It was in that moment, when he was sitting in his father's house, Blair's hand on the small of his back, rubbing in small circles, that he came to an awesome realization. _God, I am **so** in love with you, Dr. Blair Sandburg!_ Jim kept that little epiphany to himself as he crossed his arms over his chest, feeling calm blossoming through him. _Amazing._

Blair felt more than noticed a shift in Jim's attitude. _I'll have to ask him about this later but I want to get him out of here before he really does deck his father!_ "Hey, Jim. I think it's time we should be going, man."

"Yeah, you're right, no excuse for hanging around here any longer. Thought we might be able to find some help but I guess I was mistaken. See you around, **Bill,** " Jim said, putting a special sarcastic emphasis on his father's name. He got up from the couch and Blair followed behind him, gathering their jackets from the arm of the chair and nodded at the silent senior Ellison, who just nodded in return and gazed wistfully after his oldest son.

Out in the car, Jim waited until Blair was seated comfortably in the seat of the Explorer before looking over at him. "Blair. While I was in there ranting... I realized something."

Jim was suddenly the sole focus of Blair's attention. "What was it, Jim?"

"I realized just how much I am in love with you," Jim said softly. "It was your hand on my back, rubbing me and trying to keep me calm, and I just realized... man, I am **so** in love with you."

Blair's answering smile was soft, but it was bright and made the young doctor look even younger. "Jim... how romantic... in your dad's driveway, in your truck," he said with a grin. "I love you too, Jim... if I didn't, I wouldn't have moved my entire life down here to help you." He leaned forward, and Jim engulfed him in a hug. "Now come on... take me home, make love to me, and tell me again how much you love me."

Jim spun gravel pulling out of his father's driveway, Blair's hand on his knee the entire trip back home.

~ * ~ * ~

When they got back into the loft, Jim dropped his keys on the counter and hung up his jacket as he played the messages on the answering machine. The unerased one from Simon played first, and then one from Stephen.

"Jimmy, it's Stevie. I--Dad just told me what he was doing, and I think it sucks he shafted you that way. You say the word and I'll keep racing for you and to hell with Dad. Love you, Jimmy."

The last message was from Megan. "Jim, it's Conner. I need to talk to you. Can you come to the hospital tonight? It's important. Thanks."

Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's waist and rested his cheek against his lover's back as they listened to the messages. "You gonna talk to Stephen?"

"Maybe later. I'm going to go see Conner." He turned around so that Blair leaned against his chest instead. "Come with me, Doc. Please?"

Blair nodded against his lover's chest. "Of course." He picked up Jim's keys. "But I'm driving this time," he said, seeing the slight quiver in Jim's eyes. _The thought of the hospital scared him to death,_ Blair realized. _I never thought Jim was one to be scared of his own mortality._

Jim and Blair were both quiet as they drove to the hospital, and rode the elevator up to the floor where Megan was sitting up in bed, waiting for him. "Bout damn time," she grumped.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed. "You look like shit," he said with a faint grin.

"Fuck you, Jim," she said with an answering grin. Then she got serious. "Jim. You gotta win Daytona for me. If my car doesn't win that race... then the sponsor will pull out and I won't get paid for the season. I got a lot of plans, Jim, Joel and I do. You know about the house on the hill, the new place. Plans that ain't been paid for."

"Megan, I can't."

"Get your pansy ass in that car, Ellison," Megan said forcefully. "You're the best there is out there, better than me, better than anybody else who puts their ass on the line every weekend out on those tracks. You had a crack up but you're not going to die." She gripped his arm tightly. "I'm counting on you to come through for me, Jim. You got to drive. You got to win. Move Simon and the crew over to my car. Work with my crew, get the car set up for your specs. Drive for me the rest of the season. Win it for me, Jim."

Jim looked at the other driver, then at Blair, then back at Megan. "All right. I'll do it, Megan. Just until you get back on your feet. Next season, I'll be out there kicking your ass again."

Blair kept his thoughts to himself. _Megan will never be in a racecar again._ But Jim didn't have to know that. Not now, not until after the season. Blair dug out his cell phone, and dialed.

"Banks."

"Sy, it's Dr. Sandburg--Blair."

"Yes, what do you want?" asked the crew chief impatiently.

"Meet Jim and I back at the loft; we've got a job for you."

There was a long pause, and Blair almost thought that the man had hung up on him. "I'll be there in an hour."

"Great, we'll see you then." He looked up at Jim, who he knew had heard every bit of the conversation.

"Megan... you're in the best hands," Jim tried to reassure her. "Blair's the best--I'd put my life in his hands."

Megan looked over at Blair Sandburg. _Well, Sandy, I hope Jim's right about you._ "Doc, I hope to hell Jim's right about you."

"He is," Blair reassured her. "You're in the best hands, and I will do everything in my power to make sure you come through this fine."

"Get out of here, Ellison," Megan said with a smile. "You're making me jumpy."

Jim gave her a guilty smile. "Watch for me on Sunday. I'll win the race for you."

~ * ~ * ~

"Forget it, Jim! You shouldn't be in a damn car and I sure as hell won't work for you in Megan's!" That was Simon's reaction to Jim's news.

"Dammit, Simon, I promised her! I promised Conner I'd drive for her and win the damn race and make sure she didn't lose her sponsors! But I can't do it without you because we're a team!"

Simon turned his glare to Blair. "Talk to him, Doc! Make him listen to reason!"

Blair gently shook his head. "I agree with Jim. Getting back in the car is just what he needs right now, especially at Daytona, where the initial wreck occurred. If Jim can get in the car and win this race--whether for Megan or himself isn't relevant--then he's beaten the demon and he can get on with his career. If he doesn't, then his racing days are over."

Simon sighed. "Fine. Ellison racing can do without it's pit crew. Megan's chief won't work without her, and the backups aren't half as capable as we are. Stephen's got his own crew; I'll bring ours with me and we'll start working on the car again. It'll be ready just in time for Daytona."

Jim offered the crew chief his hand, and was surprised to find himself in a bear hug. "Thanks, Sy."

"Just come through the damn thing in one piece," Simon growled.

"I will," Jim responded, walking Simon to the loft's door. "I'll be careful."

"See that you are."

After the crew chief left, Jim picked up the phone again, and then sat on the couch beside Blair. "I gotta call Stevie."

Blair nodded, and put his arm around Jim. "You'll do the right thing."

Jim sighed as he dialed Stevie's number. Thankfully, he answered. "Hello?"

"Stevie, it's Jim."

"Hey, Jimmy. I left you a message earlier."

"Yeah, I was out paying the old man a visit. Stevie, look... you're a damn fine driver. If the old man can get you a sponsor, drive."

"But Jimmy--"

"Don't **but Jimmy** me, Stevie, it didn't work when we were kids and it's not gonna work now. You do what I tell you, okay? I got my ride, you got yours. And I'm gonna kick your ass and leave you in the dust on Sunday, you got it?"

"I got it," Stephen said on the other end of the phone. "How'd you get a ride?"

"I'm driving Conner's car."

"Conner!"

"That's right, I'm driving Conner's car for the rest of the season. So you just get ready to lose, hear me?"

Stephen snorted. "I'll see you on the track, big brother."

"See you Sunday, Stevie."

"See you later, Jimmy."

Jim hung up and looked up at Blair, who was snickering. "Get ready to lose? Cocky, aren't you?"

Jim wrapped his arms around Blair's waist. "Just sure of myself."

Blair ran his fingers through Jim's short cropped hair. "Not scared anymore?"

"Terrified, Doc. But I know I can do it, if I just get a grip on it."

~ * ~ * ~

The Sunday of the race came, and Jim was walking through the garage in Daytona. Blair's shift at the hospital had kept him from making the trip with Jim, and the Sentinel missed the doctor.

"Jimbo! Phone!" shouted Sy.

Jim walked across to the phone, and took it out of Sy's hand as the crew chief made a kissy face as he relinquished it. _Gotta be Blair._ "Hello?"

"Hello, handsome."

 _Bingo!_ "Doc... where are you? Sounds like you're talking through a tin can."

"Turn around, big guy," Blair's voice instructed him. Jim turned around, and across the green, at the top end of pit row, Jim saw Blair standing there and waving at him.

"How?"

Blair started moving towards Jim, and now that Jim could see him, he was starting to hear the echo of Blair's voice from across the track as well as in the phone. "I just got another doctor to cover my shift when Megan pointed out I'd be doing more good down here as a cheerleader than there babysitting here until Wednesday."

"Hurry up, Doc," Jim said, hanging up the phone and moving out of the pit to greet him. "Now this is nice." He wrapped his arms around Blair's waist as they moved back into the pit together.

Blair hugged him back. "I wanted to surprise you, when I found out Kellerman would cover for me, and Megan gave me some quick tips on the best flights."

"I'm glad you're here." They walked past Simon, who was working on the car's engine. "Problem, Sy?"

"No, no problem," he said. "We're just switching engines."

Jim nodded; it was nothing they hadn't done before, and he walked off, Blair in tow. Simon looked over at the Ellison Racing stall, and at big Bill Ellison. Bill started at Simon for a few moments, and then looked away.

~ * ~ * ~

The race was going fine. Jim was back in the bottom half of the top ten, and he was starting to panic. "Sy, put Doc on."

"One minute." Sy passed the headset over to Blair. "He's panicking."

Blair nodded and slipped the headset on. "Jim?"

"Blair!" Jim took a deep breath, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. "I'm dying out here... I'm flying by everyone else, they're all getting out of my way."

Blair relayed it to Simon, who checked the spotter.

"He's right," Henri crackled back. "Everybody else is just slowing down, he's not."

"Tell him to keep going," Sy said to Blair.

"Just keep going, Jim, they're slowing down as they're coming up on the curve, nobody here knows why. Just keep going like you're going Jim."

"He's up two more spots to number five," Henri reported. "I see why they're all slowing down; they're taking green flag pits. Stevie just called in to me."

"You?" Simon questioned.

"Yeah, tell you later."

"Okay. Gimme the headset back, Doc."

Blair handed the headset back to Simon. "Jim, come on in. The slowdown has been green flag pits; we just got the call in. We'll gas you up, freshen up your tires. The pace car's coming out."

Jim pulled the big racer into pit road, and they started the stop.

"Fuck, the airgun jammed!" shouted Rafe, and a new one was quickly passed over. But that took precious seconds.

"Simon, if you guys don't get me out in front of that pace car we can kiss this race goodbye."

Even Blair joined in pushing Jim's car up to the top of pit road.

In the Ellison Racing stall, Bill was shoving his pit crew out to help. "You can't do that!" accused Stephen's crew chief.

"That's my boy in that car, that's my engine in that car, and that's what my guys are pushing! Now get the hell out there and push!" Bill ordered.

And they did. Jim floored it, running close to the pit road speed limit the entire way, and just barely made it out of pit road in front of the pace car. He faded back to his fifth place position, and the race was back on.

Jim was doing fine again until the last four laps. Geoff Bodine hit the wall in the bottom curve. Black smoke boiled across the track, and the caution flags came out. The driver started hyperventilating. "Sy!"

"Jim, listen to me. Just drive through it." Instead of Simon's voice, it was Blair's. Blair was being prompted by Simon. "By the time you get there, they will be out of your way. Go on the high side, and they'll be gone when you get there. Don't take your foot off the accelerator. Just keep going," Blair continued, repeating the things the crew chief said to him.

"But--"

"Don't think, Jim, just trust me. I'm the Guide, remember? I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Just drive through it, Jim. Drive through it and you will be okay." He abandoned what Simon was telling him and went with his instincts. "I'm here with you, Jim. Nothing is going to happen to you as long as I'm here."

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, flooring the accelerator and steering for the outside of the turn. Smoke billowed over his windshield and he saw Bodine at the bottom of the track. "All right!" Jim screamed as he flew unscathed through the wreck. "Let's get into some racing!" He floored the accelerator and shifted into the high gear. "Simon, what's my status!"

Simon shut down the cheering in the pits with one hand. "You're in fifth place right now, Jimbo, with four laps to go. You're going to have to take two cars in the next pass, and then Stephen on the last lap."

"Got it!" Jim's car flew around the track, dancing around the other cars as his confidence returned. The white flag dropped, the last lap, and he was in second place behind Stephen.

Stephen looked up in his mirror. "Shit, he's on my tail!" he reported back to his crew chief.

"Close up on the inside. He'll never take you on the outside."

Jim edged closer to Stephen, drafting him.

"Shit, the son of a bitch is drafting me!"

"Stay close on the inside, he can't take you on the outside!"

Jim looked up at Stephen's car. _You're mine, little brother!_ Jim floored the car, and drifted low.

Stephen looked up. "He's trying to take me on the inside."

"Spin him out," advised the crew chief.

Stephen nodded, and nudged down further towards the inside.

That's when Jim went to the outside. Breaking the draft, Jim floored the accelerator, and the car flew by Stephen on the outside of the turn and pulled the nose ahead, pulling down the checkered flag.

Stephen slammed his hands onto the wheel, but he waved at Jim as Jim passed him. _I knew you could do it, Jimmy, and Dad be damned!_

Jim was half hanging out the car window in Victory Lane when Blair got there, and pulled him out the rest of the way. He didn't give a damn who saw as he grabbed Blair in his arms and kissed him long hard and thoroughly as the reporters raced to talk to him.

"Mr. Ellison! Mr. Ellison, how did it feel to win at the racetrack where you had your worst disaster?"

"Mr. Ellison, you pushed out your brother for the first place win, how do you feel about that!"

Jim ignored the questions. _Where the hell is Simon?_ He saw the crew chief leaning against pit wall alone, and he ducked out, heading over to him. "Sy? What's wrong, I need to call the Doc?"

"No, no, I'm fine. You did it, Jim."

Jim leaned against the wall beside Simon. "Couldn't have done it without you, Sy." Then he gave the crew chief a sideways look. "You didn't think I could do it, did you."

"Well, Jim, you said it yourself once... ain't nothing you can't do with a racecar."

Jim chuckled softly. "Well, can you walk? Or do I have to carry you?"

"Where?"

"Victory lane."

"Walk, hell. I'll race you." Simon took off running towards the racecar, and Jim followed at a dead run, catching up to the crew chief and laughing as he draped his arm around Simon's shoulder and dragged him to Victory Lane.

The End


End file.
